by DORA GRAHAM
Mother always set the table; four o'clock as school let out.
Bells electric, blue-black blazers, school scarves streaming, joyous shouts.
Past the lighthouse, white and gleaming, bicycles and busses crowd.
Raggy, baggy leather satchels, inky fingers, voices loud.
Sun-shot seaside, bingo parlours, slot machines and dodgem cars.
Teenage walks with teenage wenches, on the prom beneath the stars.
"Stoney Island" on the out-tide, sand eels shiny in the sun.
Crabs and whelks and periwinkles, wildwood childhood.... days now gone.
Rambling brambles in the country; damsons, conkers, free-range eggs.
Work-won bounty, rural booty; scrapes and scratches to our legs.
Misty morning mushroom hunting; out at five and back by six.
Mother had the kettle boiling; bacon, eggs and mushroom mix.
Auntie Gwen and Auntie Winnie, Gran, and Grandad, Uncle Jack.
Cousins, Michael, Ian, Andrew; memories come flooding back.
Christmas carols, Mr Lunns house, up Hull Road, just out of town.
Hot Mince-pies and Stones Green Ginger; Home again with half-a-crown.
Friends and family, stoic safety; careless childhood wild and free.
Older now, the tired traveller misses "home" in Withernsea.